


Sleep

by Attenia



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-04 23:40:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18354119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Attenia/pseuds/Attenia
Summary: Aragorn is injured and Legolas is convinced it's his fault. His worry for his friend won't let him sleep, and Aragorn does his best to help. OOC Legolas.





	Sleep

“I’m sorry, Estel!”  
“For the last time, Legolas, it wasn’t your fault.”  
“Of course it was my fault, I fell asleep on my watch!”  
“You didn’t fall asleep, you passed out, there’s a big difference. Why didn’t you tell me you were wounded? You’d half bled to death by the time I got to you. You nearly gave me heart failure, mellon nin.”  
“You’re one to talk.” Legolas glared pointedly at Aragorn’s bandaged leg. It wasn’t even a bad wound, but it had nicked an artery and he’d lost a lot of blood. Had Legolas not gotten to him so soon, he would have died, and it was clear on Legolas’ anguished features that he knew that all too well.  
Aragorn sighed. Arguing was doing neither of them any good. They’d wanted to go on a relaxed hunting trip, but it had been far from relaxing so far. First, they were attacked by orcs, and Legolas, being the idiot he was, had neglected to tell Aragorn he was injured.  
Then he’d passed out in the middle of the night from blood loss when he was supposed to be keeping watch, and had been unable to warn Aragorn when the dregs of that same orc party crept up on them. All in all, they were lucky that Aragorn’s leg wound and Legolas’ stomach wound were the worst they had suffered.  
Once he’d stitched the gash in his friend’s stomach, it had stopped bleeding, and was well on its way to healing. The cut on his leg would take longer, but it would heal eventually.  
“Just forget it, alright? Let’s set up camp. I say we head home. This has not been a fun trip.”  
“You’re telling me,” Legolas muttered. Aragorn glanced at him in concern. The prince was so tense that he looked around, half-expecting more orcs to show up.  
“Legolas? What is it?”  
“Nothing. I’m fine.”  
That was always a red flag. When Legolas said he was fine, it generally meant he wasn’t, and Aragorn resolved to watch him more carefully, in case he was trying to hide any more injuries.  
They travelled slowly, not wanting to rush with their wounds. They were two weeks away from Imladris, but it was relatively safe territory; the orcs had been an anomaly, and now that they were closer to Imladris, there was little need to keep watch. As the days passed, Aragorn became more and more worried about Legolas. There was something really off with him, but the prince refused to talk about it.  
He seemed to become more tense and exhausted with each passing day. Aragorn wished he knew what was wrong. A week passed, and his concern mounted. Legolas looked at his wits end. He was pale and miserable, but he still wouldn’t say what was wrong.  
They had settled down for the night and Aragorn had almost drifted off when he was jolted back to wakefulness by a sniffling sound. He lay still, listening. Was Legolas crying? He could count on one hand the number of times he’d ever seen his friend cry. He leapt out of his bedroll and stumbled over to the elf.  
“Legolas!” He knelt down in front of the prince. “What is it?”  
Legolas tried to hide his face, but Aragorn was having none of it. He grabbed the elf’s chin, forcing him to look at him. “Talk to me. Please.”  
“I can’t – I can’t sleep, Estel,” Legolas cried. “I’m so tired. I just want to sleep…”  
“When… when was the last time you slept, mellon nin?” he asked, though he had a sinking feeling he already knew the answer.  
“Before you got hurt. I’ve tried, I swear I have, but I just can’t.”  
“Right, that’s it, I’m making you a tea that’ll knock you out.”  
“No! No, Estel, I don’t want it!”  
“I know you hate those teas, mellon nin, but you clearly need it.”  
Legolas shook his head frantically. “No. I won’t take it.”  
Aragorn silently cursed his friend’s stubbornness. “Then tell me what I can do to help?” he asked, somewhat desperately. “I hate seeing you suffer like this.” He lay down and pulled his friend close.  
“I don’t know. I just can’t relax. I keep seeing you bleeding… you could so easily have died.” Legolas tucked his head into Aragorn’s chest and shook as he cried. “I thought I’d lost you!” he wailed in misery.  
“I know, gwador, I know,” Aragorn soothed. “I’m sorry to have scared you so.”  
Many times, Legolas had held him as he wept, but the prince hardly ever broke down like this. He hoped he doing half as good a job at comforting him as the elf always did with him.  
“You can’t leave me,” Legolas whispered, his arms clenched around Aragorn’s neck as he clung to his friend. “I need you.”  
“Just as I need you.” Aragorn stroked the elf’s back tenderly, hating the violent sobs that wracked him. “I am here, mellon nin, do not fear.”  
Slowly, Legolas’ sobs faded, and he lay motionless, but still far too tense. “I want to sleep, Estel,” he mumbled. “Help me, please… I’m so tired.” He stared up at Aragorn with eyes that seemed somehow much younger than usual, eyes that held love and trust, and a desperate plea that tugged at Aragorn’s heart. “Help me, Estel.”  
Aragorn struggled to think and took in Legolas’ body. “You’re all tensed up, mellon nin. You have to relax your muscles if you ever want to drift off.”  
“I can’t,” Legolas whispered. “I’ve tried.”  
“Alright. Take off your clothes, gwador, I will help you.”  
Legolas did as he was told without protest while Aragorn rummaged through his healing supplies, combining a couple of oils to make a combination that he hoped would be soothing.  
“Lie on your stomach and try to breathe nice and slowly. I’ll get you to sleep, don’t worry.”  
Aragorn spread the oil over Legolas’ back, rubbing it all over before starting a gentle massage. He soon realized that this was going to be harder than he’d thought. He’d barely exerted any pressure at all when Legolas was flinching and sucking in a gasp. He was holding his muscles so tense that any attempt to loosen them was hurting him.  
“Ok, just breathe. I’ll go slowly. You’re ok, don’t worry.” Aragorn started rubbing very gently, slowly increasing the pressure. It seemed like an endless battle. He’d finally work out one knot in the muscle, only to come back to it a few minutes later and find it just as tense as before.  
He started singing softly, a lullaby his Ada had sung to him when he was little and couldn’t sleep. Slowly, very slowly, he managed to work the worst of the tension out of Legolas’ back and worked his way down the prince’s body.  
When he started kneading the arches of the elf’s feet, Legolas cried out in pain and jerked out of his grip. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t realize that was a sore spot. I’ll go slower.” Aragorn carefully pressed a thumb into the tense spot. “Breathe through it, mellon nin. You’re tensing against the pain. Breathe in, and when you breathe out, let some of the tension go.”  
He could feel Legolas doing it, but whenever the prince lost concentration, the tightness would be back. He couldn’t stomach the thought of Legolas soldiering on tomorrow, walking on feet that had to feel like they were being stabbed with each step. The muscles shook in protest as he tried in vain to loosen them, and Legolas whimpered softly.  
“Just stay here for a minute, mellon nin, I have an idea.”  
They were camped right next to the river. Aragorn felt around in the shallows and picked a few stones that had been smoothed by the water. He tossed them in the fire and waited for a few minutes before fishing them out with a stick. After waiting for them to cool sufficiently, he put on a pair of leather gloves to protect his hands and went back to Legolas.  
“This is going to be hot, but it shouldn’t hurt,” he warned. Legolas moaned softly as the hot stones touched his feet, but this time, it was a moan of satisfaction rather than pain. Aragorn gently rubbed the muscles with the stones, letting the heat help to work out the tension.  
Fortunately, having been raised by elves, Aragorn was a patient man. He worked slowly, silently berating himself for not realizing how bad this had gotten. His Ada had trained him better than that. Some healer he was.  
When he got Legolas to flip over, he was relieved to find his friend considerably more relaxed. He had to reheat the stones and go slowly over the elf’s upper chest and collar bones, which seemed almost as sore as his feet. He honestly wasn’t sure how Legolas had even managed to walk.  
Legolas was making sleepy noises of pleasure now, his body nearly limp. It must be a huge relief, to finally be able to relax, after having held himself tense for a week.  
Aragorn kept singing until he’d massaged every inch of his friend’s body. By this time, Legolas was nearly asleep, but some part of him seemed to be hanging onto wakefulness. Aragorn carefully slipped into the bedroll with him.  
“I’m here,” he whispered. “I’m safe, we both are. You can relax.”  
Legolas’ hand found his, and the prince’s head tilted until their foreheads were pressed together. “Thank you,” Legolas breathed.  
“It is my pleasure, mellon nin. Please, rest now.” Aragorn pulled Legolas so that the prince’s back was to his chest, and he wrapped his arms around his friend. “Rest,” he breathed.  
And finally, Legolas did. Aragorn recognized the glaze of his eyes as the elf slipped into sleep.


End file.
